


I'm burning for you (a renegade on the run)

by korilove



Series: road trip au [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Blow Jobs, Classic Cars, Classic Rock, Cunnilingus, Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, Mentions of Melissa McCall - Freeform, Mentions of Scott McCall - Freeform, Smoking Stiles, dine and dash, smoking lydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4016524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korilove/pseuds/korilove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s complicated.” He says, running his hands over his face. He’s met by another skeptical look from Lydia. “Look, can you just trust me on this?” he asks her.</p><p>Which, in his mind he can understand why she wouldn’t. He’d only met her less than 6 hours ago, and apart from small talk and a hot and heavy make out session, they really don’t know each other.</p><p>-----------</p><p>Road Trip Au: Stiles gets picked up by a beautiful stranger when the jeep runs out of gas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm burning for you (a renegade on the run)

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly cannot believe that I finished this! This is inspired by so much, I couldn't possibly list it all.
> 
> This fic is a continuation of a drabble I wrote in december, but I've included it all here to make it less confusing. The title of the fic is from Burning For You by Blue Oyster Cult and Renegade by Daughtry. The lyrics included in the first of the fic are from Renegade by Styx.
> 
> This would never have been finished if it weren't for my amazing beta's (and fave friends) [anonymouses](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymouses/) [[trashstiles](trashstiles.tumblr.com) on tumblr] (polina) & [scottmczall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmczall/) [[scottmczall](scottmczall.tumblr.com) on tumblr] (sibele). Seriously, you guys made this fic possible and I can never thank you enough! (best betas ever)
> 
> Also, please excuse the smoking in the fic, sadly my own addiction made it here (also to classic rock but that isn't nearly as destructive). and always be safe with protection people, do as I say and not as I write!

When the humming of a revving engine in the distance can be heard, it's like music to his ears.

  
  
It's the first sound he's heard in hours, other than the shuffling of his own feet. His white t shirt is stuck to him, his skin slick from the sweltering heat. He'd stripped his plaid button down and jacket off at least an hour ago when the heat of the day started to set in- they are now slung over his shoulder as he walks in scuffed converse down countless miles of deserted highway.

  
  
His jeep had run out of gas as he tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and Beacon Hills, and as much as it hurt to ditch his beloved vehicle, he decided he was much better off to abandon it.

 

  
_It'll be much harder for them to find me._

  
  
So reluctantly, he'd taken the keys from the ignition, grabbed the only things that still mattered from the jeep - which included a tattered picture of his mom from the dash, Scott's dog tags, and his dad's AA chip - and started walking. He'd stuck his thumb out to a few passing vehicles in the past 5 hours, but none had taken pity on him.

  
  
Maybe this one will.

  
  
He eases up on his pace to turn around, walking backwards and jutting out his thumb as a blue Chevy Nova starts to come into view. The muscle car doesn't let up, and whizzes past him. "So much for that." He mutters to himself.

  
  
Turning back to face the straight death mile he's been walking, he sees that the Nova's break lights have been triggered, and its actually stopping.

  
  
_Finally._

  
  
He jogs up to the passenger door, and bends down to talk to the driver just as the window opens up. "Need a ride?"

  
  
The person behind the wheel is the last you'd expect. The sweetest looking, petite and firery haired girl is sitting in the drivers seat, her expression unreadable. She's tapping her perfectly manicured fingers on the steering wheel, her hair falling loosely around her in waves. The flower printed top and dark jeans she's wearing hugging her frame perfectly. Stiles feels his mouth go dry - drier? Since he's already dehydrated from walking in the scorching sun - and swallows thickly before responding.

  
  
"Yeah." He manages as he opens up the door and slides inside. The girl purses her lips before darting her tongue out over them for a fraction of a second. He can see the moisture form on her bottom lip and he's so mesmerized by it, he almost doesn't catch what she says.

  
  
" - you headed?"

  
  
Stiles quickly regains his composure and huffs out "East."

  
  
The redhead cocks an eyebrow and clicks her tongue before putting her car in gear. "Sounds like we're going in the same direction then."

  
  
She gives him a grin that envies that of the devil as she burns out from the median, propelling them forward. Her hair a cape in the wind behind her, billowing from the open window beside her.

  
  
_This should be interesting._  He thinks as his heartbeat speeds up ten times faster. She's got the pedal to the floor as she turns the dial on the radio up. A familiar song blares from the speakers.

  
  
**[Oh, Mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law**  
**Law man has put an end to my running and I'm so far from my home**  
**Oh, Mama I can hear you a-cryin', you're so scared and all alone**  
**Hangman is comin' down from the gallows and I don't have very long]**

  
  
_Very interesting, indeed._

 

_\----------------------_

 

The only saving grace from the sweltering heat of the day is the wind blowing in from the open window, which still isn’t much better than walking.

Desperately needing relief, Stiles hoists the damp t-shirt over his head, and exhales harshly. Which affords him a side-eye from the gorgeous driver.

He’s learned very little about her from their obligatory small talk. Her name is Lydia, she’s from Sacramento, and apparently loves classic rock.

(Which he is very much more than a little bit okay with.)

He studies Lydia closely, as she stares a little too long. Her hands are steady on the wheel, but her eyes do a sweep over his figure. Her tongue quickly darts out from between her lips, leaving a strip of moisture on them. Stiles feels the smugness spread throughout his bloodstream as her eyes meet his for a brief moment. Lydia hastily turns her focus back to the endless stretch of road in front of her.

Stiles is content to just watch the beautiful stranger as she drives. Lydia slouches in the seat a bit, but has the seat pulled so close to the steering wheel that if Stiles were driving in that position he’d end up folded up into some sort of origami shape. He suspects she’s short, which would suit the rest of her petite stature.

She keeps her hands at precisely 9 o’clock and 3 o’clock on the steering wheel most of the time, occasionally dropping her right arm to up the volume on the radio. Her fingers are constantly drumming out the rhythm of the guitar of whatever song is playing, while she sings under her breath.

From what Stiles can tell, she’s not half bad either.

Every now and again, he’ll catch her sneaking a glance at him. He’s still shirtless, only wearing Scott’s dog tags and the jeans he started the day in. As soon as her emerald irises flick up to his own, she bites her lip and looks away.

Which is starting to build up a different kind of heat inside the car.

The temperature must be getting to Lydia too - a few times Stiles has caught her sweeping her hair from the nape of her neck. He can see where sweat has accumulated there; her skin sort of glistens in the sunlight. She keeps shifting her gaze to him when she thinks he isn't looking, only to ignore him if he asks her "what?", usually with a click of her tongue and a roll of her eyes.

Lydia drops her arm from the steering wheel to turn the dial of the radio up once again. An AC/DC song blares louder through the speakers, and she starts to move the rest of her body to the beat of it.

Stiles imagines that if they weren’t in the confines of this car, she’d be pretty wild on a dance floor. He watches her move her entire body to the right as she sways in her seat.

Suddenly, she reaches over him, opening the glove box. Her hair falls into his lap, brushing against his sticky skin. For a brief second he pictures her head being in a very different position in his lap, and Stiles jolts away and raises his hands.

“Woah, mind trying not to kill us?” He shouts as the car starts to drift a bit onto the gravel.

Lydia straightens up in the seat and corrects her driving, as if nothing had even happened. She looks pretty pleased with herself, a pack of cigarettes clutched in her hand.

Stiles doesn’t even have a chance to catch his breath before she’s pulling one out of the packet. He’s mesmerized by it, her perfectly manicured fingers putting something so terrible between her lips, like a shiny metaphorical pistol.

“Could you hand me the lighter?” She asks, turning her head toward him, making her hair blow a bit in her face from the wind.

Stiles scans the expanse of the dash before spotting a bright pink lighter in one of the cup holders. He snatches it up and pulls on the trigger, igniting the butane into a flickering blue flame.

Lydia leans into the flame and lights the end of the cigarette. She inhales deeply and Stiles hears a contented groan as she finishes her drag. The sound sends aches of want throughout him as he watches her pull the stick out of her lips. The smoke drifts from her mouth slowly, curling up to the roof of the car before being sucked out the window.

“Stiles?”

He's broken out of his haze of lust and fascination by her question, and has to snap his eyes back to her. She’s holding the smoldering cigarette out for him, placed between her perfect fingers. There’s a hint of cherry-colored lipstick on the filter.

“Uh, sure.” He says, carefully taking it from her.

He takes a few drags, letting the nicotine course through his veins before he leans back over, handing it back to her.

When Lydia goes to take it back though, she grabs his wrist for a second without even glancing away from the road. The touch sends shivers down his spine, making the heat between them even more unbearable. She softly traces the pads of her fingers across his palm before pulling the smoke out of his hand.

Stiles’ mouth falls open in a silent “O” as he settles back into the seat, and he doesn’t notice the smug look on Lydia’s face.

Stiles sighs heavily and rests his arm on the door of the Nova, glancing out the window for a moment. At the same time, he sees a road sign, indicating a rest stop is up ahead.

“You don’t mind if we stop, do you?” He asks her, jerking his thumb towards the sign. His throat is dry from the mixture of dehydration and smoke, he could definitely use some water.

Lydia clears her throat, mashing her lips together and taking another drag before speaking. “No problem.”

Stiles nods before she turns away from him again. He starts tapping out the drum line of the song on the radio with his fingers just as they pull up to the rest stop.

Lydia puts the car in park as Stiles grabs his button down from the backseat. He can feel her gaze as he shrugs the fabric onto his shoulders, but doesn’t meet it. He opens the door and stretches out his legs.

He turns back to the Nova and leans down to stick his head in through the open window. “I’ll just be a few.” He says, gesturing towards the restrooms.

Lydia waves him off. “I’m in no real rush.” She says, unbuckling her seat belt and shifting her legs out from under the steering wheel. She props her high heeled feet onto the dash and leans her head on the headrest behind her before taking the last drag from the cigarette.

Stiles shakes his head and makes his way to the men’s room.

\----------------------

Stiles makes quick work inside the restroom, relieving himself before running his hands under the tap. Then, under the influence of the heat, he dips his head under the faucet to feel cool water permeate the pores of his scalp. He runs his hands through it before splashing water on his face too. To finish, he takes a long drink from the faucet for good measure.

Satisfied with his cool down, Stiles exits the restroom, only to be met with the small frame of the stranger who picked him up from the side of the road 5 hours ago.

“Uh, Lydia this is the men’s room.” Stiles sputters.

“Yes, Stiles I am perfectly aware of that.” Stiles barely registers that she is speaking though, as she’s pinned him against the wall of the bathroom.

He gives her a quizzical look, eyebrows knitted and eyes darting all over the room. He doesn’t realize that she’s raised herself up to meet him until her lips touch his.

He freezes completely and Lydia pulls away as quickly as she kissed him. She raises her eyebrow and huffs. “Stiles?”

Stiles licks his lips quickly, and tastes the remnants of what must have been her lipstick. “Uh. You - uh. You wanna try that again?” He stutters.

He barely finishes his sentence before she captures his lips again.

Whatever heat Stiles had been feeling before was nothing in comparison to this.

Lydia kisses him fiercely, full of intent and something that burns hotter under his skin. Her hands card through his damp hair, grasping onto it like a lifeline. She tastes like cigarettes and red vines, which is odd since he hadn’t seen her eat anything since he got into her car. When he bites her lip she elicits a sound that’s a mix between a whimper and moan, and he wants to hear it again.

Stiles rolls them against the wall, so that she’s the one pinned. Her hands roam the expanse of his back under his button down before she pulls it off his arms.

Returning the favor, Stiles peels her flower-tank from her body, letting it drop to the cement floor. The way her hair falls from the garment as he lifts it over her head is straight out of a shampoo commercial, long and flowing over her fair skin. He sweeps the waves of fire away from her neck as he presses searing kisses there, trailing from her collarbone to the swell of her breasts.

Stiles is pulled from his train of thought by the sound of sirens sneaking up on them.

He jolts away from her when the sound pierces his eardrums, flooding his body with fear to replace the momentary desire. He quickly picks up their shirts from the floor, swings Lydia into his arms and into the closest bathroom stall.

“What the-?” Lydia protests, before Stiles throws a hand over her swollen lips. He hastily locks the door of the stall before whisking Lydia back into his arms and standing on top of the toilet.

Just as he finishes this, the door of the restroom bangs open.

Thankfully, the stall’s walls are tall enough to conceal them from whoever steps inside. The clacking of heavy boots on the floor and the tell-all click of turning the safety off that Stiles knows too well confirm his suspicions of it being police.

“Anyone in here?” comes an all too familiar voice, and Stiles’ breath gets caught in his throat. His heart hammers in his chest, memories and grief coursing through his veins. The sheriff walks the length of the room noisily, before an audible sigh can be heard.

Stiles hears the pistol being holstered before the door creaks back open. “There’s no one here.” The sheriff says, muffled by the closed door.

Stiles blows out a breath and lets the sombre emotions escape before setting Lydia down on the floor. He hops off the toilet as he’s met by a death glare.

“So you’re on the run from the law, are you?” She accuses, wrenching her top from his hands. She pulls it over her head and keeps staring, obviously awaiting an explanation.

“No! I mean, not really the law, persay. Just a specific man who happens to be a lawman.” Stiles rambles off.

Lydia cocks an eyebrow. “And what exactly is this lawman’s position?” She demands.

“He’s-he’s the sheriff.” He admits.

Lydia crosses her arms in front of her chest, her chin jutted forward and her head held high. “And why exactly is he chasing you across state lines?” She questions.

“It’s complicated.” He says, running his hands over his face. He’s met by another skeptical look from Lydia. “Look, can you just trust me on this?” he asks her.

Which, in his mind he can understand why she wouldn’t. He’d only met her less than 6 hours ago, and apart from small talk and a hot and heavy make out session, they really don’t know each other.

Lydia gnaws on her bottom lip for a moment, before surprising him and giving him a slight nod. She jerks her head towards the outside. “Come on, we should get out of here.” She says before opening the door and slipping out.

“O-kay?” Stiles says under his breath dumbly, and follows her out.

\----------------------

“So, what’s with the smoking?” Stiles questions, breaking the thick tension about an hour after the bathroom incident.  
  


Lydia turns her head from the road and the setting sun, lit cigarette in between her teeth. “I don’t.” She says flatly, venom in her tone.

Stiles cocks an eyebrow and gives her a pointed look. “Really?”

Lydia huffs out a sigh, blowing thick smoke out through her nose. She looks back at him, a thin smile on her lips that makes Stiles swallow hard.

“No, really. What’s with the smoking?” He asks again, prying the cigarette from her hands and taking a drag. “I mean, you don’t really seem like the type.” He comments, smoke easing out of his mouth at every word.

Lydia steals the cigarette back fiercely, and gives him a menacing glare. “First of all, you don’t know me.” She hisses, flicking the end of the smoke, sending ashes all over the dash before taking another drag.

There’s a pause that’s a little bit too long - Stiles figures she doesn’t actually have a second point to add. He watches her smear the ashes she sends flying into her jeans, painting white and gray into the dark blue. “And the second thing?” He challenges, twisting in the seat to face her head on.

Lydia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes animatedly. “Blow me.”

Stiles laughs at her, matching her hostile tone. “Nice try, but you aren’t fooling anyone, princess.”

Lydia clicks her tongue and he can practically feel the heat of anger radiating off of her. “Fine, if you’re so clever, why don’t you tell me what type I am exactly?”

“Uh-” Stiles starts, but snaps his mouth shut. He figures any response he can possibly come up with could potentially end with him on the side of the road again. Which is the last thing he needs right now.

“That’s what I thought.” Lydia snarks, flashing him a sinister grin.

“Why don’t you enlighten me then?” He says, curiosity getting the better of him.

Lydia seems to falter for a fraction of a second. Her face voids of the annoyance that was there moments ago, replaced by what Stiles perceives as fear. But as quickly as the persona was dropped, it shoots back up. Lydia pointedly ignores him, and veers the car into the nearest exit lane.

Stiles sighs, bracing himself. He’s sure he’s pressed her buttons enough for her to kick him out at this point.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she drives them to the closest 24-hour diner she can find in Salt Lake City.

She puts the car in park, pulls her hair into a perfect knot on the top of her head with an elastic, and hops out of the car.

“You coming?” She asks, ducking her head back into the cabin of the Nova.

Stiles stumbles over himself, fumbling with his shirt and the door before ending up on the outside of the car, where he notices Lydia hasn’t taken her eyes off him. Stiles smirks awkwardly, trying to be smooth as he shuts the door lightly.

Lydia rolls her eyes and locks the doors before strutting her way to the diner, Stiles following diligently behind her.

\----------------------

The diner is fairly quiet, save for a few other patrons at one end. Lydia selects a booth near the back of the restaurant and pulls a menu from the table.

Stiles follows suit, still trying to figure out this girl. On one hand, she seems like someone who wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this - stale and smelling like burnt coffee. On the other, she has this fiery attitude about her, like she could tear someone a new asshole and do her nails at the same time.

Which, disturbingly enough, was both frightening him and turning him on.

The waitress steps in front of the booth, shaking Stiles out of his thoughts. “What can I get you guys?” She asks, order pad out and a pen in her hand.

Lydia gives the waitress a sweet-but-fake smile. “A slice of cherry pie and a sprite please.”

The waitress nods. “And you?”

Stiles mumbles something about a burger and fries and the waitress slinks away.

Lydia pretends to be inspecting her manicure, while Stiles watches. She keeps catching his gaze before shifting her attention back to her nails.

“Lydia, really.” He says, reaching out to lower her hands. Her expression softens a bit, and she lets out a sigh. “Enlighten me, what type of girl are you?” He prods.

“One with parents who don’t care.” She says simply, leaning back into the booth to sever the lingering touch of his fingers.

Stiles shifts closer to her, leaning over the table in front of them. “How so?”

Lydia frowns, but leans onto the table to meet him. “My father would rather be at the bottom of a bottle than care about me or my mom, and my mother was too weak to do anything about it -”

She’s interrupted by the waitress, who sets down their food, asking if they need anything else. They both say no and she walks away towards the kitchen.

Lydia stabs her fork into the pie, and makes a satisfied sound as the flaky pastry slides into her mouth. She savors it, closing her eyes and humming happily before continuing her story.

“He used to get angry when he’d drink. Like, fits of rage angry. And he’d take it out on mom.” She explains, settling into her seat more than she had before. She takes another bite of pie before she continues.

“I used to come home after school and he’d be drunk. He’d sit at the kitchen table, yelling things at mom. I’d tell him to shut the hell up and she’d step in, telling me to let her handle it. Which always ended up in screams and punches.”

Stiles keeps his eyes on her while chewing his burger. Something still doesn’t add up about her. She’s speaking at lot more freely, her words flowing with a certain amount of consistency that hadn’t been there before. She finishes off her pie and takes a drink from the glass in front of her before stealing a few of his fries from the plate.

“So a few days ago, I came home like any other day. Dad’s drunk and still drinking, spewing nonsense at mom for no reason. I told him to shove it, and he called me a little slut. Mom got in the middle of it- “ Lydia pauses for a second, her eyes are shining with what appears to be tears. “He shoved her into me and I hit my head on the counter, which really escalated my mom. She fought back. I’d never seen her do that.”

“But he got the upper hand, like always. Yelling about how ungrateful we are and how he’d be better off if we were dead.” She wipes at her eyes briefly before continuing. “And then he pulled a gun on mom.”

“It happened so fast, I don’t know what came over me. I just wanted to protect mom, so I stole the gun out of his hands. I pointed it at him and mom was screaming. And I didn't see another way out of this, that it would all end if I pulled the trigger. So I did. And now I’m here.”

Lydia picks up her glass and finishes the sprite. “Does that answer your question?” She says.

Stiles mulls it over in his head. It still doesn’t add up for him. If she’s from an alcoholic family, he seriously doubts she would keep the habits she seems to. Her nails are done absolutely perfect, make-up flawless and she’s wearing heels for christ’s sake. Not exactly runaway attire.

“Not quite.” He answers. “You might want to try working on that story next time you tell it.”

Lydia’s eyebrows raise, and her mouth drops open a bit. She taps her nails on the table before stealing another french fry. “What makes you think that wasn’t the truth, fugitive boy?”

Stiles matches her front, eyebrows raised and a cocky smile spreads over his lips. “You aren’t exactly dressed like a girl from poverty, Lydia. And I’m pretty sure runaways don’t wear high heels. Actually, I’m pretty sure no sane person wears them while driving across states, either.”

Lydia crosses her arms in front of her, a sour look on her face. He’s pretty sure she must get away with stories like that all the time, and he has an inkling she’s never been shot down like this either.

“Wanna tell the truth this time?” He smirks.

Lydia scoffs at him and steals a drink of his coke. “No.”

“Care if I hazard a guess?” He asks, sure he’s got her pegged right.

Lydia waves her hand with an air of indifference as she settles back in the booth.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you didn’t steal that car, or the cops would have known after they ran the plates back at that rest stop. So it’s probably your parent’s car, lemme guess, your dad’s? So they’ve probably got a decent amount of money. Which explains your manicure and clothes. Not so much why you’re driving it through Nevada.”

Lydia’s mouth drops open a bit for a moment before she wets her lips and mashes them together. Stiles feels the smugness of being right wash over him, and he cockily steals his coke back from her.

Lydia wrenches his plate from him, and picks up the remaining fries from it. She looks thoroughly annoyed, as the pops them into her mouth.

“Take your time admitting it, not like I have anywhere in particular to be.” He chuckles, leaning back in the booth.

Lydia grunts in annoyance before speaking. “Okay, fine. My dad isn’t an alcoholic and I’m not a victim of physical abuse. Although neglect might be the better word.” She sneers.“My parents don’t notice if I’m home or not, and frankly they don’t care. So I like to do whatever I can to get under their skin.”

“Like, stealing your dad’s car and smoking in it.” Stiles finishes for her.

“Or running away from the police?” She throws back at him. The annoyance in her face is gone, replaced with the smirk she wipes off his face.

“It’s not like that.” He mumbles.

“Mhm.” She hums, looking far too pleased with herself.

She gets out of the booth, smoothing out her top before leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Dine and dash, Stiles. Dine and dash.”

She straightens up, and the righteousness rolls off her, like tendrils of confidence. “Let’s see how the fugitive lives up to the name.” She quips. She holds her head high and struts out of the diner.

Stiles feels his breath catch and panic ebbs its way over him. He takes a quick look around the diner. No one is paying attention to him yet, the wait staff is too focused on something in the kitchen. Stiles gets up and makes his way to the bathrooms, pushing his way into the men’s room.

Scanning it quickly, he breathes out a sigh of relief that there’s a window. Placing a trashcan strategically under it, he props himself up. He fiddles with the locks, but it appears the window has been barred shut from the outside. Swearing, Stiles kicks out the window, shattering glass sounding throughout the room as he escapes.

He plops down onto the gravel and sprints around the building, where Lydia already has the Nova revved and raring to go. He wrenches the door open and slides in just as Lydia burns out of the parking space and out of the parking lot.

Lydia laughs, loud enough to even be heard above the roaring engine. It bubbles out of her chest, contagious and free as she speeds her way to the closest exit.

Stiles can hear his heartbeat in his ears, blood pumping at full speed. He laughs along with her, letting the tension roll off him.

Lydia pulls the car off into an empty overlook after speeding a few miles away, sighing as she puts it into park.

“Whew!” She laughs again, pulling her hair out of the makeshift bun and running her fingers through it. She turns her head towards him, flashing a mischievous smile that lights up her features.

“Next time, why don’t you give a guy some notice?” Stiles scolds, half jokingly. Not that dining and dashing isn’t something he wouldn’t have done himself. His eyes travel from her face to the flesh of her chest, reddened from all the excitement.

“What would be the fun in that?” She teases. Stiles follows the flush of her skin from her neck, up to the flesh of her cheeks. His eyes flick up to meet hers, and it feels like the oxygen has been sucked out of the air.

In a burst of boldness, Stiles reaches his fingers into her reddish waves and pulls her closer, crashing his lips to hers. She returns his enthusiasm, leaning in closer with a small whimper.

 

Lydia climbs over the console and into his lap in one swift movement, leaving her heels behind under the driver’s seat. Stiles’ heart is still beating fairly fast as she runs her hands through his hair, tugging him impossibly closer.

Their kisses are just as fierce and hot as before, only rougher from the adrenaline pumping through both of them. His hands snake underneath her top, roaming her back. She tastes like the cherry pie, tart and sweet at the same time, which seems to suit her just fine.

Lydia nips at his lower lip before trailing her kisses along his jaw, eliciting a groan from Stiles. She grasps the hem of her shirt and pulls it off. Stiles leans forward and places open mouthed kisses over her stomach before she leans back into his lips.

Lydia's fingers start clutching at the buttons of his shirt while he kisses her thoroughly, their foreheads mashed together. While she works towards stripping him of his shirt, Stiles has other plans. Using his amble fingers, he unclasps her bra swiftly, discarding it in the driver’s seat. He moves his hands over her breasts, cataloging every dip and curve.

Lydia hums in approval as she send his shirt to join hers. Stiles ghosts the pads of his fingers over her nipples, and he’s awarded another groan. She pulls him forward with the chain necklace around his neck, the dog tags clanking together as she does. Stiles ignores the heavy feeling in his gut, taking the hint and buries his head into the crook of her neck. Her nails rake lightly over his scalp as he laves at her skin, leaving a mark right above her collarbone.

Suddenly Lydia slides off his lap, kneeling in front of him in the hollow below the dash. Her hands move quickly, undoing his belt and pulling at his jeans. She has them around his ankles before he even has a chance to process it, her hands palming his dick through his boxers.

“Uh. Lydia, don’t you think-?” He tries, before she reaches into his underwear and gives him a good, long stroke. The words of slight protest get lost in the moan that escapes from his mouth.

“Hmm?” Lydia strokes him a few more times before releasing him. “Is there a problem?” She asks, a sweet but knowing tone in her voice.

“Uh, no. Just - don’t you think this is a little rushed?” He asks, the voice in his head swearing at him. “We don’t even really know each other.”

Lydia licks her lips and raises herself up, her hands grasping onto the bare skin of his thighs. “Isn’t that kind of the point?” She leans forward, her eyes boring holes into his own.

Oh, fuck it. He thinks, closing the distance between them and kissing her again.

Lydia breaks off to trail kisses that blaze down his neck, chest, and stomach. Kneeling down again, she licks from base to tip before taking his cock in her mouth.

“Fuck.” Stiles half moans, reaching his fingers into her hair again. He feels her giggle a bit, sending vibrations over already sensitive areas of his skin.

Lydia starts up a steady rhythm, pulling off sporadically to swirl her tongue around the tip, teasing at the slit in a way that makes Stiles squirm in the seat before she sinks down again. He follows her every movement with his hand, fingers cradling her skull as she sucks him off like a pro.

Slews of “Oh my god” and “christ” escape his lips in moans, his head slanted back on the headrest. When he starts grinding up into her mouth because it’s just so damn good, she brings her hand up to help, speeding up her pace.

Stiles tightens up his grip on Lydia’s scalp, fucking her mouth with abandon, but she is relentless in her movements. The sensations creep up on him swiftly, unable to give her a warning other than another groaning swear of “fuck” as he comes hard.

Lydia makes a small noise of surprise, but keeps working him through his orgasm. She pumps him slowly, swallowing everything until the sensitivity becomes too much. Stiles lifts her off carefully with his hands, sighing contentedly as he leans down to capture her lips.

Stiles feels her smile against him, and he tangles his fingers in her hair again, enjoying the way it feels. When she breaks away, he mumbles a quiet “Sorry.” against her lips.

Lydia pulls her face away from him, and gives him a quizzical look. “Sorry for what?” She asks.

“For, you know, not warning you.” He explains, his fingers still knotted in her hair.

She shakes her head quickly and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth, “As long as you don’t leave me hanging, there’s nothing to be sorry about.” She snarks.

Stiles doesn’t even leave room for doubt, diving back into her, opening her lips and tasting himself on her tongue. Lydia pulls at his bottom lip with her teeth before releasing it, getting up from her kneeling stance. But instead of climbing back into his lap as he suspected she would, she crawls into the backseat.

Stiles can only look at her dumbly as she stretches out on the bench style seat. Her hair looks gloriously messy, her lips are missing the red stain that had been there all day, but are plump from his kisses.

Lydia raises her hand, and points a perfect finger in his direction. She bites her lip and motions for him to get his ass over there.

Stiles eagerly follows her, forgetting that his jeans are still around his ankles. He fumbles, trips, and nearly falls into her lap, causing her to laugh. She covers her mouth with her hand, trying to contain it.

“Smooth.” She teases once she composes herself, taking a hold of the dog tags once again and hauling him closer as he kicks his jeans off his feet.

Stiles plays off his clumsiness with a smirk, a tilt of his head, and a shrug of his shoulders. He presses his lips to the pale skin just behind Lydia’s ear, and he hears the breath get caught in her throat.

“You were saying?” He quips softly, feeling cocky as he repeats the action, moving downward until he finds the hollow of her throat. Stiles breathes her in, the scent of sweetness and sweat mixing together, like a delicious perfume. He places a soft, open mouthed kiss to her pulse point, making her breathing more ragged.

Lydia’s fingers are running through his hair as he moves his mouth from her neck to her chest, marking every inch of skin he can get to. He pays special attention to the curve of her breasts, fingers tweaking her nipples, her moans a reward he wants to spend an infinite amount of time chasing.

By the time Stiles reaches the top of her jeans, Lydia is breathless and by the way she jabs him with the heels of her feet, he figures impatient too. Still, he takes his time, being deliberately slow in removing her jeans. As he painstakingly drags them down, he dots her thighs with his lips, earning a tug of his hair.

Somehow he manages to peel the too-tight-denim off her legs, struggling with the fabric before discarding them on the floor. Stiles once more trails kisses over her, lingering a little longer on the inside of her left thigh as he settles between her legs. Hooking his fingers around her panties, he strips her fully and flings the lacy garment, not much caring where it ends up.

“Alright fugitive boy, hurry up.” Lydia bites, annoyance apparent in her voice, but still breathy.

Stiles chuckles before he kisses her clit softly, then swipes his tongue out across the sensitive nub. Lydia arches her back, a breathy moan escaping her in approval. Stiles experiments with different pressures on her clit until he finds one that makes her whimper and dig her nails into the sensitive skin of his scalp. He nails her with it over and over again before adding a finger, making her gasp audibly.

Stiles' lips spread a bit as he feels the smug satisfaction course through him, adding another finger for good measure. He adjusts the angle of his fingers, speeding up his pace as Lydia’s breathing becomes labored and her moans fall steadily.

Stiles lets up for just a second to catch his breath, releasing the pressure on her clit - which is met by some very obvious protest from Lydia.

“Oh for fucks sake Stiles, just-”

She doesn’t have a chance to finish her sentence, as Stiles goes back to it, nibbling at the nub. The sensation must be too much, as it sends her over the edge with a breathless whimper that is so high Stiles is surprised his ears register it.

Lydia’s hand - which is still grasping at the back of his head -  moves with the rest of her body as she rides out the high, only pulling him off when she squeaks out his name.

Stiles bites his lip and grins up at her, getting a beautiful view at how absolutely wrecked she is. The flush from before is back, but nearly as red as the lipstick she’d been wearing that day. Her other hand is tangled in her hair, her features screwed up in perfect euphoria as her chest heaves to catch her breath.

Lydia snaps her eyes to his, having felt his gaze. She sits up, crossing her legs and leaning up against the side of car. Stiles mirrors her, scooching over the leather seat to get closer. Laughing lightly, she hooks a finger around the chain still dangling around his neck and pulls him in, grazing her lips against his in another searing kiss.

She hums contentedly against him, breaking them apart. Stiles leans forward and touches his forehead to hers, mimicking her sounds with sincerity.

"Not bad for a fugitive, huh?" Stiles deadpans, raising his eyebrows and waiting for her reaction.

Lydia rolls her eyes, but he isn't fooled by it, the smile on her lips giving her away. "Shut up and grab the cigarettes for me." She orders, not quite so mean as before.

Stiles laughs lightly before leaning into the front of the car, grabbing the pack of smokes and lighter from the glove compartment,  where he spots a flask. Grinning, he picks it up, along with his plaid shirt, offering all but the flask to Lydia as he settles back into the seat beside her.

Lydia gives him a warm smile that actually appears to be real as she takes the flannel, wrapping herself up in it before lighting up a smoke.

"So, is this something you do on the regular to get under your parents' skin?" He asks her as she takes a drag. He opens the cap of the flask and swings it back, the bite of whiskey hitting his throat.

"Do you mean the smoking? Or the mutually beneficial oral sex?" She replies, offering the cigarette to him again as she exhales tendrils of smoke.

"Both?" He says before exchanging the flask for the cigarette.

Stiles watches her tip  back the flask, emptying some of its contents into her mouth. She appears to mull over his question for a moment as he takes a few drags. There’s an air of vulnerability in her features, the walls of superiority and indifference no where to be seen.

“The smoking is a regular thing when I get away from my parents, not so much otherwise.” She explains as she steals the cigarette back. “I’ve only fucked a stranger once, though.” She tacks on to the end, as if he wouldn’t notice.

Stiles kinks an eyebrow at her as he takes the flask out of her hands, and she giggles. “You know how I told you I killed my alcoholic father?” She asks, genuine amusement etched on her face. He gives her a slight nod, indicating she should continue.

"I spent a spring break between Stanford and San Francisco, there was a conference on theoretical physics." She starts. "I met this lawyer in one of the bars, pretending I was a student.”

Stiles can see where the story is going. But he stays silent as she tells him about going back to the lawyers apartment in San Fran, her cigarette forgotten and burning up to the filter between her fingers.

Stiles pulls another cigarette from the packet and lights it as he starts to feel the warming effect of the whiskey in his veins. He zones out of Lydia’s story, focusing his attention instead on her bare legs that have been spread across his lap. He starts trailing the pads of his fingers over them, eliciting giggles out of Lydia in between her breaths.

She steals the flask from him a few times, taking turns drinking from it until it’s empty. She tells him other stories too, how she stole her dad’s car once and drove north, only stopping at the Canadian border to turn around. How she counted cards in Vegas in one of her mother’s expensive dresses. How she got high on Venice beach for a whole weekend, just tanning and smoking while surveying (judging) onlookers over her ray-bans.

Their laughs flow freely, and somehow Lydia ends up curled on his chest. The cigarettes are almost gone, Stiles having smoked a few more than he would normally as he gazes out at the stars in the desert.

“You can’t have many friends, do you?” He asks her, breaking the silence.

Lydia tilts her head up and looks at him. “Not any real ones.” She says simply. She starts toying with the dog tags again, the clinking bringing up a rather somber feeling in his chest.

“What about you?” She questions, soft and quiet.

There’s a long silence, as waves of emotions Stiles has been trying to avoid try to make their way over him. He pushes them down and sighs.

“Just one.” He says simply.

But he doesn’t have to worry about explanations - Lydia’s breathing has become soft and steady, her eyes flutter closed as she gives in to sleep.

Stiles feels relieved as he lets his eyelids fall, following her into slumber.

\----------------------

The sunlight is disorienting, pricking at him from behind his eyelids as he reluctantly comes back to the land of the living. Stiles snaps his eyes open, finding himself alone in the backseat of the Nova.

Stiles panics a bit, not finding a trace of the fiery headed girl in sight. He hastily pulls on his jeans and t-shirt before clambering into the front seat, heart pounding as his brain tries to rationalize.

She couldn’t have left him here, she wouldn’t have left her dad’s car, right?

His little prima donna moment is cut short as he spots the red of her hair out of the rearview mirror. Sighing, Stiles opens the door and joins her outside.

She’s sitting on the trunk of the car, his plaid flannel still over her shoulders. Her curls are pulled into a loose ponytail that’s thrown over one shoulder. When she hears the car door slam, she fumbles with something and snaps her head towards him. She takes a drag off her cigarette as he props himself up on the car to join her.

“Good morning.”

Lydia hands him the rest of her smoke as she exhales.

“Morning.” She replies as she pulls on the chain around his neck, pressing a quick peck to his lips. She goes to pull away from him but he chases her, kissing her again more deeply than before. She hums quietly against his lips, playing with the dog tags between her fingers as she melts into him.

Stiles smiles when they break apart, leaning his head up against her forehead. She seems distracted, eyes flicking downward instead of meeting his. She bends her head down, and he watches her inspect the writing engraved on the tags.

“Who’s Sergeant Scott McCall?” She wonders out loud, almost quiet enough that Stiles doesn’t catch it.

He almost wishes he hadn’t.

Stiles closes his eyes for a moment, taking in a sharp breath through his nose. He looks down to where her hands are pulling at the tags, and he notices the burned up cigarette still pinched between his fingers.

Swearing inwardly, he tosses the butt onto the ground, not meeting Lydia’s gaze or answering her question.

“Stiles?” comes her voice again as she pulls the tags and the chain over his head. She runs her thumb over the text, pulling him out of his head.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He says abruptly, sliding off the trunk and away from her.

“You don’t want to talk about it?” She repeats under her breath. “You think I wanted to tell you about my parents?” She throws at him.

Stiles can feel his hands starting to shake a bit as he runs them over his face. He starts to pace along the side of the car, his converse sending dirt and dust flying.

“Lydia,” He says warningly, continuing his back and forth movements.

“I know literally nothing about you, and I’ve told you everything there is to know about me. And the first question I ask you shoot me down?!” She bursts out. “That is just so typical, Przemyslaw!”

 

Stiles stops dead in his tracks at the sound of his first name. Not only does she pronounce it correctly (which no one other than his parents and Scott had ever been able to do), she knows it. He lifts his head up to see her cringing a bit, her eyes scrunched closed in frustration.

“H-how do you know my name?” He asks, a cross between a demand and not wanting to know the answer.

Lydia sighs and opens her legs a bit, pulling his wallet out from between them. She sets it on the top of the trunk beside her, an apologetic look on her face.

“You stole my wallet.”

Lydia moves her arms out in a bout of annoyance. “Only because I wanted to know more about you.”

“Know more about about me huh?” He spits. “You could have just asked. Like a normal human being!”

“I just did, and look how that turned out!” She bites back, jumping off the trunk and slinking up to him. “All I knew about you is that you were on the run from some sheriff willing to cross state lines to find you, and some bogus made up name! While I practically tell you my life story!” She’s almost flush against him, breathing hard and vulnerability written all over her features.

Stiles runs his hands over his face. She’s right, she doesn’t know anything about him. “It’s not a made up name. It’s my nickname.”

Lydia’s nose twitches with confusion. “Who nicknames someone ‘Stiles’?”

“Scott did.” He mutters quietly, without really thinking about it.

Lydia’s face immediately softens, the meaning behind his words not lost on her. There aren’t many other reasons a guy would have someone else’s dog tags around their neck.

“He couldn’t pronounce my name when we were little, so he started calling me Stiles. I liked it better anyway, so it stuck.” He continues, words flowing from him more easily than they had in months.

"He was my best friend. Hell, he was practically my brother. We did everything together." He pauses for a moment. Lydia takes his hand and leans up against the Nova, rubbing her thumb over his in small circles as he speaks.

"He enlisted right after high school, like he always said he would. I used to tease him, say he’d have to turn into a modern-day Steve Rogers before the Army would take him. Didn’t stop him though. He moved up ranks fast for someone so young. He was so passionate about it, I could hear it in his voice when he’d call.”

Stiles sniffles a bit as the memories flood in, cold and depressing. He flashes back to the rainy day Melissa called him. She was so broken she couldn’t even get the words out, but Stiles knew.

“And then one day, he was just gone.” He finishes, letting out a ragged breath as tears threaten to spill over.

Lydia offers him a weak but genuine smile. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles takes his hand out of hers and wipes away the wetness around his eyes. He looks down at his scuffed shoes as he tries to keep it together.

He feels her small hand come up to cup his cheek, softly swiping her thumb across it. She puts the chain back around his neck with both hands, before she wraps her arms around him. He feels the dam break, flood gates open and tears flow freely.

Stiles dissolves into a mess, his head leaning into her shoulder.

\----------------------

After a stop at a gas station for coffee and cigarettes (Lydia uses her dad’s credit card - “He won’t even notice I used it.”she’d said), they’re back on the road.

They stay silent for a long time, but it’s not uncomfortable. She doesn’t ask about him being on the run or about Scott, and he doesn’t bring up her parents.

The radio blares out classic rock songs, and Lydia sings along, just as she had the day before. Stiles taps out drum rhythms on the door, watching endless desert whiz past his eyes. They share smoldering cigarettes and little looks before eyes flit away.

He pretends he doesn’t notice when Lydia’s hand comes to rest on his knee, but it fills him up with an emotion he can’t remember feeling for a long time.

Happy.

\----------------------

After a food break (they pay this time), they pull into the closest motel to the highway. Even though they’d made the decision that staying in a motel was a much better option than sleeping in the back of her car again, the premise seems daunting.

“Stiles, I need a shower, and so do you.” Lydia had said. “Tell me you aren’t sore from sleeping in the backseat.”

He hadn’t been able to argue. Mostly because she was right.

Lydia puts the car in park and sighs, reaching for the pack of cigarettes before lighting one.

Stiles looks out the window at the dark sky, an idea forming in his mind.

“Come on.” He says, beaming as he scrambles out of the car.

He’s already up and settled onto the windshield of the Nova by the time Lydia makes her way to him, one eyebrow kinked in curiosity.

“What exactly are you doing?” She laughs lightly.

“Come on, you’ll see.” He says simply, patting the empty space beside him.

Lydia obliges, hopping up on the car, leaving her heels behind on the asphalt. She crosses her legs in front of her as she stretches out, their shoulders touching.

“Okay, now what?” She asks playfully, turning her head slightly towards him before taking another drag off the cigarette.

“Now, you look up at the stars and fathom our complete and utter insignificance in the universe.” Stiles quips, bringing his left arm behind his head to prop it up.

“You’re not gonna offer to teach me about constellations and show me where the milky way is?” She jabs, and he can hear the amusement in her voice, spreading that warm feeling throughout him, despite the temperature of the air.

“Somehow, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t teach you something even if I wanted to.” He responds.

The only sound is crickets in the distance as he watches the stars, his thoughts traveling to other times in his life he’d done this. Camping out in the backyard with his mom. Getting drunk in the park with Scott. Even on his roof by himself.

“It’s so beautiful.” Lydia whispers, so soft he barely catches her words.

Stiles tears his eyes from the millions of pinpointed lights, only to find himself staring at two twinkling orbs in front of him. He has an inkling Lydia isn’t watching the stars, she’s watching him.

Lydia presses her lips together, tongue wetting them as she averts her gaze shyly. Stiles doesn’t let her turn away, moving his arm out from under his head and running a thumb across the soft flesh of her cheek. The airs charges with a palpable energy, her breath catches in her chest as he pulls her in.

This kiss is different than the ones that came before - which had been charged with heat, adrenaline, and attraction. It’s soft and warm and searching, not about a means to an end. Stiles moves his hand from her cheek and into her hair, tangling his fingers through it like a lifeline. He feels Lydia’s fingers brush in a wave against his jaw, a barely there movement as she hums against his lips.

They lie like that, on the roof of her dad’s car, under a blanket of brilliant stars, sharing slow, lazy kisses, for what seems like hours. When she reaches for the tags around his neck, he finds they don’t seem to weigh as heavy.

\----------------------

“Two queens, please.” Stiles requests, leaning onto the faded counter top. The motel’s office is dark and dingy, the only light in the room a desk lamp behind the counter, and the faded red of the neon ‘open’ sign in the window.

The old man behind the counter cracks a smirk, and Stiles can’t decide if it’s endearing or creepy.

“Sorry, son. No two queens left.” He drawls. The smirk on the man’s face turns into a gap-toothed smile, revealing a few decaying teeth.

Yep, definitely creepy.

“We’ll take whatever you’ve got.” Lydia pipes up, sliding her dad’s credit card up onto the counter.

The old man gives her a nod, processing the card and handing her a key after she signs the receipt. “Ya’ll have a good night, now.” he calls after them as they leave the office.

Lydia leads the way to their room, number 24. She unlocks the door (which looks like it’s been painted over a hundred times), swinging it open and turning on the light to reveal the layout of the room. There’s a table and chairs in front of the window, a bathroom at the back of the suite, and a single queen bed.

Stiles swallows hard. “Are you sure you want to stay here?” He asks, offering her a way out.

Lydia raises an eyebrow and gives him a knowing look. “It’s just for a night, Stiles.”

She tosses her purse onto the end of the mattress, her hands pulling at the elastic securing her hair. She lets her hair fall free, messy curls flowing freely as she runs her fingers through them. Stiles briefly remembers the feeling of the soft strands between his fingers, mixed with Lydia's shallow breathing and brushing of tongues.

Lydia hops onto the bed, breaking Stiles out of his thoughts. She lays her head back, sighing contentedly at the feel of her toes stretching out of the cramped space of her heels. She hums a song under her breath, and Stiles smiles a bit.

He moves from his spot at the foot of the bed, the grime on his skin needing to be washed away. “I’m gonna take a shower.” He says, making his way to the back of the room where the bathroom is.

“Take your time!” Lydia calls out, a hint of laughter in her voice.

Stiles makes quick work of removing his clothes, not bothering to move them from where they fall on the floor. He deposits Scott’s dog tags on the counter and lets the water run for a few minutes to warm up, taking in his reflection in the yellowed mirror above the sink. His hair is sticking up every-which-way, as always, and there’s a visible redness on one side of his jaw. He inspects it a bit, not sure if it’s a stain from Lydia’s lipstick, or a hickey.

That explains the motel clerk’s behaviour.

Shaking his head, Stiles pulls the shower curtain back, stepping into the tub. Hot water hits his skin, spreading relief over him. He ducks his head under the stream, letting the heat pummel his brain and the thoughts swirling in his mind. Not more than 48 hours ago he was still in Beacon Hills, mind racing and making fast decisions. Now he was travelling with a girl that was supposed to be a means to an end.

Usually, Stiles could easily compartmentalize and reason with himself about using people, leaving them behind when the situation called for it. He had been with Lydia for too long at this point, the sheriff could be on his tail and inching closer every second, especially now since there was a paper trail.

And even though he could logically process that it was time to bail, he felt a pull towards her. This gravity that he could feel throughout him, an ache in his bones that was at war with his mind. Stiles hadn't felt anything remotely close to this since Scott, a passionate loyalty that forces people to follow faithfully into the edges of doom.

Stiles rubs his wet hands over his face, frustration and confusion flowing through him. He'd only known this girl for less than 2 full days. He couldn't possibly be feeling anything real in that short amount of time, right?

Out of nowhere, Stiles feels small hands run over his back. They move over his shoulders, in between his shoulder blades, stopping right above his ass. He turns out of the steady stream of water and is faced with a stripped Lydia, her flaming curls flowing over her pale skin. She’s void of her make up, her righteous persona, and of course her clothes.

“What are you-?”

Lydia presses an index finger to his lips. “This isn’t what you think. I just happen to know having someone else wash your back is possibly the best feeling in the world.” She states, removing her finger and squeezing thick body wash from a tiny complimentary bottle into her palm.

Stiles raises an eyebrow - for two reasons. This feels like it’s exactly what he thinks it is, and he doubts that having someone else wash your back can be that pleasurable.

“Even better than sex?” Stiles quips, not dropping his skepticism.

“Turn around and find out.” She throws back, rubbing the soap between her palms and jerking her head towards the shower head.

Stiles obeys, turning back into the torrent of scalding water. Lydia’s hands rub the soap into his shoulders first, massaging the suds into the pores while releasing tension he wasn’t even aware was there. She repeats the action, moving her hands lower, to places he usually can’t reach on his own. It soothes the strain in his muscles, relaxing his body into submission, completely at the mercy of every movement of her hands.

Lydia slowly turns him around, her hands traveling over his chest the same way they had over his back. Her fingers linger over his collar bone for a moment, before running over his arms.

“Your turn?” Stiles suggests, grabbing the bottle of shower gel from the ledge around the tub. She gives him a small nod as he lathers the rich soap in his hands, switching positions with her.

Stiles’ eyes follow the trickles of water that fall off her body as she leans under the water, her curls straightening out through the stream. She turns to face the shower head and gathers up her hair in her hands, twisting is out of the way and over one shoulder.

Stiles works the lather into her skin, massaging the same way she had. He spends extra time on her shoulder blades, feeling the kinks work out under the pads of his fingers. Lydia hums a sound of approval under her breath and she bends forward slightly, as if her knees had given out for a moment.

Stiles can't help but lean closer to her, pressing his lips to her shoulder as he continues his work. Lydia rocks backward into his touch, brushing her thighs over his dick.

Lydia gives out another pleasured sound as she repeats the action, and Stiles shudders against her. His washing forgotten, he runs his hands over her shoulders and across her chest. She spreads her legs slightly and rocks against him again, her folds run slick over the sensitive tip. He closes his eyes and presses his lips to the base of her neck, his hands traveling down her body until he tightly grasps her hips.

Stiles tilts her head to the side with his index finger, hot kisses mixing with the scalding water over Lydia's neck. She slowly turns around, giving him access to the more sensitive areas closer to her pulse point.

Lydia lets out a breathy sigh as her back makes contact with the shower wall, running her soft palms over his chest before snaking her arms around his neck. Stiles presses her closer into the wall, hands back on her hips as kisses her intensely.

Lydia's legs wrap around him involuntarily, pressing his cock against her center while their tongues map out the insides of their mouths. Stiles can't hold back the groans that bubble out of his throat at the contact, causing him to grip tighter onto her hip bones.

Lydia's fingers tug at the tufts of hair at the back of his neck, her hips arching out to meet his. A small whimper leaves her lips, impatient and desperate.

"Lydia?" Stiles breaks the kiss, searching for an answer in her eyes.

"Just get on with it, Stilinski." She bites, pulling him closer with a smile on her lips.

Stiles ignores the responsible part of his brain that thinks about consequences and gives in, the heat of her and the steam proving to be too great. His breath gets caught in his throat as he enters her, strangled with the pleasure of it. Lydia lets out a high pitched sob, so soft he barely hears it.

Their kisses become sloppy, breathy messes; heated exchanges of indulgence pressed between sodden mouths. It’s slow and maddening, the sounds that spill from her lips drive him insane. The sensations build in his belly, working over him like a cresting wave and he chases it.

Somehow he manages to hoist her up into a different angle, and Lydia’s fingers clamp desperately onto his shoulders. The slight pain mixes with the pleasure and he gasps, constricting his grip on her hips.

“Stiles” Lydia breathes, her voice airy and otherworldly, sounding from a million miles away. He presses his lips to whatever skin his mouth can find as their bodies thrust together, her heels forcing him closer with every movement.

And then she’s grasping onto him tighter, panting breaths hitting his face as she falls off the edge. The sound of her voice breaking into another octave snaps something inside of him, white hot and overwhelming. Stiles clenches his fingers around her hip bones so tightly, he’s sure she’ll be left with tattoos of his fingerprints.

Lydia presses barely there kisses to his jaw as they ride out the high, hearts slamming against ribcages and slews of curse words falling from his mouth.

When he can catch his breath, Stiles lowers her off the wall, holding her steady as she stands up. He kisses her forehead gently before cleaning himself off quickly, giving her the chance to shower alone.

He quickly runs a towel over himself, dragging it over his sopping hair before pulling on his boxers and jeans. He exits the bathroom and settles onto the mattress of the queen bed, his eyes staring at the water-stained ceiling above him.

Amidst the sound of Lydia’s soft singing and the running water, Stiles’ mind starts to wander. He was definitely in too deep with her, it wasn’t just about getting away from Beacon Hills or his past that kept haunting him. In 48 hours his logic had been thrown out the window, replaced by an inexplicable link to this complicated, intricate and surprising girl.

The door of the bathroom opens and Lydia steps out, breaking Stiles out of his thoughts. Her curls are dripping and flung to one side, wearing nothing but his flannel button down. There's water droplets dotting the fair skin of her chest, and she's wearing the same smile on her face as when she first pulled over and picked him up.

Stiles should have known he was a goner right away.

Lydia doesn’t drop her smile as she walks over to the bed, plopping down beside him. She crosses her legs in front of her, clutching a textbook, "Theorems of Thermodynamics" in her hands.

It would seem completely out of place if she hadn't told Stiles about her life plan; which included managing her own research lab and winning a field's medal by the time she hits 30.

Stiles sits up and turns his body towards her, so that he’s flush with her. Lydia pretends not to be distracted by it, but he can see her eyes following the length of his arms, the moles across his chest, the trail of dusty hair that travels to the edge of his jeans.

Stiles smirks and shifts closer, causing her to flit her eyes back to the textbook. He starts to run his fingers over her bare legs, just to see if he can get under her skin.

"See anything interesting?" Stiles gibes, the jest and cockyness seeping out of his words. Lydia huffs out a breath. She makes a point to lick her lips and mash them together as she turns a page of the textbook.

After a few minutes of silence, Lydia’s eyes flick back up to meet his. “What?” She demands as she lays the textbook down onto her lap.

Stiles just shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head to the side. Her eyes haven’t strayed from his, and he can see the annoyance starting to ebb from her features. He reaches one of his hands out and traces her wrist with the tips of his fingers, following the veins until they are no longer visible.

And in a moment of hushed silence, Lydia’s irises shift down to where his bony fingers lay on her pale skin. She drops her other hand from where it’s clutching the textbook, and follows the raised veins on his knuckles until they meet the jagged edge of his wrist. She caresses the edges with the pads of her cool fingers, the change in temperature sending a chill down his spine.

Stiles turns his hand upward, allowing her to trace light tattoos on the sensitive skin of his forearm. Lydia’s eyes flit back up to meet his own; the soft, mossy green of her irises now a thick, dark emerald. Softly, Stiles grazes his fingers over her jaw, dragging them together over her cheekbones. She leans into him slightly, and he closes the gap by pulling her towards him gently touching her lips with his own.

Lydia hums softly against him, the vibration of it tingling his mouth. She parts his lips with her tongue, the hum growing deeper. Stiles quickly pulls the textbook out of her lap as he surges forward, needing to be closer. The book falls to the floor with a clatter, but it echoes from so far away in his ears the sound doesn't distract him.

Stiles reaches into her damp curls, the moisture cooling his fingers. As he kisses her, he can’t help but wonder what exactly this is, but at the same time he can’t bring himself to ask.

\----------------------

 

Stiles wakes with a start the next morning, from a deep and restful sleep. He rubs his hands over his face groggily, wanting desperately to get more sleep. Lydia is curled up beside him, their legs twisted together and her arm thrown over his torso. He can feel her soft breaths on his back as she snores lightly.

There’s a sliver of daylight peeking in through the part in the curtains, indicating they’d slept longer than intended. Stiles wants nothing but to stay tangled up in her a little bit longer, to bask in the feel of her skin against his, his body heavy with sleep.

Reluctantly, Stiles slides out of Lydia’s hold and rises from the bed. He pulls on his jeans and white tee; seeing as Lydia is still wrapped up in his flannel.

Stiles makes his way around the room, yawning as he searches for the pack of cigarettes. He finds them next to Lydia’s purse, along with her lighter. He pulls one out and quietly slinks out of the room, not wanting to wake the redhead.

He lights the smoke and leans up against the Nova, letting the nicotine course through his bloodstream. He watches the clouds starting to form in the sky, and cars passing by the motel.

"I thought you quit that."

The familiar sound of the sheriff's deputy's voice makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up; if Parrish is here, the sheriff is definitely close.

Stiles doesn't even answer the quip, he just bolts away from the car, instinct kicking in.

He makes it to the back of the motel before being met with the broad shoulders and stocky build of the sheriff.

His heart hammers against his ribcage, adrenaline flooding his system as he stands face to face with his father for the first time in about a week.

Stiles makes a move to try and jump over the chain link fence to his right, but his father draws his 9mm glock before he really has a chance.

"Please don't make me do something I don't want to do, Son." The sheriff pleads, not dropping his weapon from its stance. Stiles could still try to escape but would most definitely be caught before he could clear the fence.

He lets out a sigh and slowly raises his hands, kneeling down in the dirt while his father clicks the handcuffs over his wrists.

Stiles listens to his Miranda rights, even though he knows them by heart; having heard his father read them off to more than one criminal. He knows that the arrest is for destruction of property and fleeing custody, but it feels fuzzy in his brain.

They turn the corner of the building and re-enter the parking lot, only to see Parrish putting a girl in a blue flannel shirt and fiery hair in handcuffs.

His stomach plummets as he realizes he's brought Lydia into this, possibly the last thing he wanted was for someone else to take the fall for what he'd done.

"Lydia Martin, you are under arrest for aiding and abetting a fugitive.." Parrish recites, stirring up another conflict in Stiles' mind.

Martin. That name sounded too familiar to be a coincidence.

He goes over it in his mind as he's ducked into the back of the sheriff's squad car, trying to piece it together. The wealth, her habits and the stories of a family that didn't care...

And it hits him.

His mouth drops open in a silent "o" as Parrish tucks Lydia into the seat beside him, shutting the door behind her. She was Lydia Martin, daughter of the senator Andrew Martin.

He'd smoked a senator's cigarettes, drank a senator's whiskey, had sexual relations with a senator's daughter in said senator's classic car. He'd fallen for a senator's daughter, and then proceeded to get her arrested.

Panic starts to course through him, and not just from the fact that she was from a political family.

Stiles sneaks a glance at her, but she pointedly avoids his gaze. He closes his eyes and lets the guilt wash over him. He leans his head on the window as he tries to get comfortable for the long (and sure to be silently awkward) ride back to Beacon Hills.

\----------------------

Lydia hadn't looked at him once the entire drive from the motel. He could practically feel the emotions in the car - disappointment from his father, sympathy from Parrish, and anger from Lydia.

She must have realized he'd tried to escape without her, leaving her behind with the potential of being apprehended almost certain.

The only relief he'd gotten the 18 hours in the back of the cruiser was the fact that Lydia hadn't been scooped up inside their motel room, since she was wearing jeans she hadn't been wearing when he'd left her asleep in the room.

At least she'd be able to retain some of the dignity he definitely didn't have.

He sat in an interrogation room for what seemed like forever, which was completely pointless since he had no intention of denying the charges. He'd tell anyone that he'd destroyed the memorial they'd so serendipitously omitted Scott's name from.

He wondered how Lydia was doing. Had her lawyers arrived yet? Had the story run in the press and made headlines yet? Had she been roasted by her father for slandering their good name and associating with a criminal?

His thoughts are interrupted by the door opening, a deputy that used to help him with his math homework when he'd spend nights at the station, Tara, stepping through it.

She wordlessly walks over to him and unlocks the cuffs, Stiles giving her a dumbfounded look.

"How?"

"The girl who was brought in with you paid your fines. No reason to hold you, Stiles." She gives him a meek smile and pats his hands before turning back to the door and opening it.

She stands there and waits as Stiles lets the information sink in, reeling through his mind before his limbs start to move.

\----------------------

Stiles had gotten off the hook for the destruction of property (thanks to Lydia), but had to serve community service for fleeing custody. He'd been lucky, being the sheriff's son had definitely helped keep him from being incarcerated.

So he went to a different street every Saturday, cleaning the streets of litter and dirt. He knew he was supposed to be doing penance for breaking the law, but the he only thing he felt guilty about was the way he and Lydia had left things.

He didn't have anyway of contacting her without looking like a complete idiot. Showing up to her house (which would be easy because her father was a politician for christ's sake) would most definitely equal a confrontation with someone from her family. And he didn't exactly have her number.

Missing her was gray. Everything had gone back to how it was before without her, dull and colourless. No waves of fire or cherry lipstick, no emerald eyes that had pulled him out of his spiral. He smelled the nicotine off his fingers and the rush of being her partner in crime flooded in; her sneers and the rolling of her eyes, singing under her breath, the waves of confidence rolling off her as she triumphantly squandered their banter. Cigarettes and whiskey, dine and dashing, blow jobs and shower sex, the open road and stargazing.

He thought about her more than he'd like to admit; she was a constant thought in his mind. Every time he smoked a cigarette, saw a flash of red hair, heard a rock song on the radio, his mind would flash to her.

The worst thing about it was she'd probably never find out how he felt.

On this particular Saturday afternoon, Stiles was heading to the precinct to have Parrish sign his community service papers. He dreaded going to the station afterwards, it usually led to awkward glances from the other officers and the silent treatment from his father (who'd spoken less than 10 words to him outside his Miranda rights and explaining the community service).

Parrish quickly signs his form, but instead of going back to work like normal, he grabs his jacket and follows Stiles outside.

"How have you been holding up?" He asks, a sense of sincerity in his voice.

Stiles takes a drag off his freshly lit cigarette and then holds his arms out. "Well, my dad is so disappointed in me he can't bring himself to speak, my best friend is still dead, I fell for a girl I can't be with and life pretty much sucks."

Parrish nods, but doesn't back down. "You know, you wouldn't normally hear me say this but I don't blame you."

Stiles says nothing, but isn't surprised. Jordan Parrish was only a few years older, and he'd known Scott too. And anyone who'd known Scott knew that he deserved to be remembered just like anyone else.

"Seems to me that once you've hit bottom, the only place to go is up, Stiles." He says. "But the only way to do that is to make changes."

"I can't change anything! Dad has to stop being disappointed before he can get angry, and then maybe we'll fix things. I can't bring Scott back, and -" Stiles trails off, not wanting to go into too much detail. He still isn't sure why he's sharing this with Parrish in the first place.

Maybe because he doesn’t have anyone else.

"What about the girl?"

Stiles sputters a sigh and starts to pace a bit. Lydia is the one thing he might be able to change but- "I can't."

"Why not?" Parrish challenges. "I spent a lot of time with that girl, more than once in this precinct. She's a firecracker."

"I know." Stiles admits quietly.

"Man, she paid your fines. With her own money, from what I could tell. People don't do that, even if they are from politics." Parrish claps Stiles on the shoulder before adding, "I'd go get her if I were you."

Parrish give him a smile before walking towards the parking lot, heading home to what Stiles knows is a beautiful fiancée.

He gives Parrish a wave as he heads back to the jeep, unable to get the thought of Lydia out of his mind. What if she cared about him the same way? Could he change how things went with her?

Stiles absentmindedly grasps the tags around his neck and puts the jeep in gear. He was sure as hell going to try.

\----------------------

Stiles doesn't even head home to get changed, he just gets on highway 99 towards Sacramento.

He can feel the heat in his palms and his heart racing, but his mind's made up. He has to at least see her again.

He has a rough idea where the Martin family mansion is, he'd even seen it before with his mom when they were driving around the city one day a long time ago. He'd remembered from the news that Lydia's grandfather had also been a politician, so she'd probably lived in the big house her whole life.

As Stiles starts to get closer to the higher end and gated neighborhoods of the city his nerves start to get to him, hands shaking and heat flushing his cheeks. He thinks about turning around and going back, but his resolve is too strong.

When he pulls up to the street he thinks the mansion is on, the scene is straight out of a movie.

There’s a huge gate blocking the entrance to the lane, Valets parking cars and security all around the premises. Stiles slows down and scouts the property; there's music and the buzz of a crowd coming from the mansion.

He rubs his hand over his face and contemplates a way in. From the look of the fence he could probably climb over it, but there was a considerable amount of clear space between the fence and the house.

His beat up jeep sticks out among the sleek and expensive vehicles lining the street, so he parks a few blocks away on a deserted street.

Stiles takes a quick look at himself in the rear view mirror, his hair is moderately acceptable, but the heat he feels in his palms has creeped into his face, flushing it slightly. He gives a sigh and shakes his head. You can do this. Just go get her, you got this.

And with his mini pep talk, he hops out of the jeep and makes his way across the neighboring opulent houses.

\----------------------

Stiles managed to sneak over the fence near the back of the house, landing on his feet on the pool deck. Over the smaller fence surrounding the pool, he spots wait staff  and caterers moving in and out of a side door at the back of the house.

When he slips in through the door, his senses are overloaded with extravagance. Twinkling lights, high end furniture, rich smelling foods, classical music and crystal dinnerware. Men in tuxedos and women in high end gowns, taffeta and silk, jewels and sparkles.

Stiles peers down at his out of place plaid and jeans, scuffed converse and still a bit dirty from his community service. There's no way he doesn't stick out like a sore thumb in this crowd of lavishly dressed people.

He tries to keep to the edges of the open concept kitchen/living room, to fly under the radar as much as possible as he scans the crowd for the signature flaming hair that's consumed his thoughts for the past month.

Lydia doesn't appear to be in this part of the house, so he follows the flow of people traveling to the front of the house. It leads him to a huge ballroom, where the music grows louder and the swarm of people swells.

There's wait staff handing out flutes of champagne on platters, people dancing what appears to be be waltz around the room, and multiple conversations strewn over the sidelines. Stiles can see the scandalized looks from the guests, but he doesn't let it phase him from his goal.

When he finally spots the glowing red curls among the crowd he swears he stops breathing.

Lydia is apparently listening to a conversation with who appears to be other girls her age. Her hair is pinned to one side, flowing freely down her shoulder. Her deep purple gown hugs every curve and falls all the way to the floor. The deep neckline leaves nothing to the imagination (not that he needs to imagine it, he already knows she's sexy as hell).

And in a moment that seems like the crowd goes silent, Lydia's green eyes flit up and focus in on him.

Even from across the room, Stiles sees her falter; her face softens for a moment before turning hard and a blazing look appears in her eye as she excuses herself from the conversation and starts to strut her way towards him.

Stiles swallows thickly as she gets closer, sure she's going to call after security to have him thrown out. If her look conveys anything, it's definitely not that she's happy to see him in any way, shape or form.

Instead of stopping in front of him as he expects, Lydia passes right by him. Stiles is dumbfounded for a moment before he realizes she's grabbed him by the wrist and he's being hauled away from the ballroom.

Lydia pulls him up the spiral staircase so fast he barely has a chance to take in the general splendor of it. The hallway upstairs is empty of people but not of the exuberant decor. Expensive paintings hang on the walls and plush carpet drapes the floor under his feet.

Lydia wrenches on a door halfway down the hallway and shoves him inside, slamming the door closed behind her.

"What the holy hell are you doing here, Stilinski?!" She seethes, nostrils flaring slightly and arms flying out in front of her. Stiles says nothing, still completely in awe of her.

"You know what, don't answer that. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you show up here after a month of nothing? Don't answer that either. " She spews, starting to pace at the foot of the king sized bed in the room. A beat passes and Lydia's hands ball into fists, as if she can't decide what to yell at him for next. "Do you have any idea how much it costs to have a classic Chevrolet Nova towed over 2 states?"

"Probably as much as it cost me to get the jeep out of impound." Stiles mutters under his breath, unaware he'd said it out loud until he sees Lydia's pupils dilate.

She laughs incredulously, anger rolling off her in waves as she gets dangerously closer. "Seriously? You got me arrested for Christ's sake, Stiles. Arrested! Before you left me in the motel room, alone I might add, so you could get away. And you have the gall to come here in your stupid plaid and say that to me?"

Stiles takes a step towards her and his emotions get the better of him. "I didn't leave you there, Parrish ambushed me and I got caught up with my dad. If you would have just stayed in the room they probably wouldn't have even known you were there!" He bellows, meeting her hostility.

"Oh! So now it's my fault that I was arrested? Well excuse me for caring about what happens to you, you complete ass!"

Any retort that had been forming in Stiles' mind melts away, his heart beat pumps steadily as he focuses on her words. "You care about me?" He whispers.

Lydia stops short, her mouth hanging open slightly in surprise. "That's not what I-" she tries, licking her lips when it fails, but Stiles can see through it. His lips involuntarily draw up in a smile, even though the air is still charged with Lydia's resentment.

"Stop smiling at me, that's not what I meant." She tries again, determined to keep chewing him out.

"That doesn't make it any less real, though, does it?" Stiles says, his voice going husky as he takes another step so that their bodies are flush against each other. He bends his neck so he can see every eyelash dotting her eyes, the perfection of her skin and the deep red of her lips. His words hang in the air, the silence echoing with his heartbeat. He leans in closer, daring to call her bluff.

"Stiles, d-"

He swallows her words, pressing their lips together softly. His fingers linger on the edge of her jaw, gently tracing it before falling away as he pulls off her lips, trying to gauge her reaction.

Lydia doesn't move for a moment, no words exchanged, just his vulnerability in the air and his heart on his sleeve. He listens to her breath, and the gushing of her sigh before her hands grasp the sides of his face and she kisses him back.

Stiles feels triumphant as he parts her lips, tasting her tongue. His hand moves into her hair and she whimpers quietly into his mouth.  

Their kisses quickly turn from sensual to desperate, the music from downstairs drowned out by the sound of Lydia's breathing.

She starts reaching for the bottom of his shirt and pulls it off, smoothing her hands over his bare chest. She toys with the dog tags, as if they hadn't even missed a beat.

Stiles kisses his way down her neck, following the edge of her dress to the plunging neckline. His hands drift down her body to her hips, where his fingers catch on a slit in the gown. A devious thought crosses his mind, and without contemplating it, he yanks on the fabric with both hands. The slit splits all the way up the hem, stopping right above her breasts. He can't help but smirk as he frees her of the dress, letting the torn silk pool around her feet.

Lydia seems to have no qualms about the dress, she just makes quick work of undoing his belt, shucking his jeans down his thighs so he can join her in being stark naked. Stiles toes off his converse and trails his kisses back up to her shoulders. He snakes his hands around her torso and unclasps the black lace from her body. He lets it drop to the floor, joining her dress in a pile.

Lydia sighs breathily, pulling the pins out of her hair as her legs hit the edge of the bed behind them. Stiles drops them down onto the mattress, pressing her into it, not breaking contact with her skin. Her heels clank to the floor, but neither of them seem to care.

Lydia adds pressure with her nails, scratching at his skin so roughly he's sure she's going to draw blood. The slight pain makes his dick twitch, distracting him briefly from the kisses he's been placing to her stomach.

Eager to please her, Stiles rips the matching black lace of her panties, discarding them on the floor. He runs a finger through the folds, smugly surprised at the slick he finds there.

"God, Lyds you're so wet." The nickname slips out of his lips from nowhere, but she seems to like it. Her hips follow his finger as he rubs it from her hole up to her clit. He presses teasing kisses to the inside of her thigh as he  continues his ministrations. Soon, Lydia is meeting every movement, moans falling steadily from her. Stiles licks at her clit for a moment, earning him a higher pitched sound from her lips. She protests when he pulls his tongue away, but is satisfied when he inserts a couple of bony fingers.

He starts to feel her clenching around his hand, so he speeds up his movements. Lydia's breathing is shallow and her hands grip tightly to the tufts of hair at the back of his neck. "Oh god." She utters, airy and high as Stiles feels her climax hit, waves cresting over her as she rides it on his face.

When her hips start to slow he removes his hand, wiping the slick on his boxers before pulling them off.

Lydia sits the upper part of her body upright, capturing his lips again. She hums against him, making his dick twitch again with want.

As if she could read his mind, she reaches over and gives him a few long strokes. The choked sound that comes from his throat is obscene, and Lydia laughs a bit before kissing him deeply.

Stiles rubs his thumbs over her cheeks and lays her back down, his hands travelling to her hips again. He grasps onto them as his hips meet the flesh of her thighs, groaning with the pleasure of pushing inside her. "Oh, fuck."

He doesn't even get more than 5 thrusts in before Lydia hooks her feet around his knees and rolls them over, his back hitting the mattress with an audible "oof" escaping him.

She flashes him a mischievous grin before she starts moving. Stiles swears outwardly and meets her hips, his hands still grasping onto the bones and fingers brushing the soft skin of her stomach. Her hair hangs in his face a bit, falling over him with her every movement. He reaches his thumb up and softly flicks her nipple with it.

Lydia hums appreciatively, her tongue darts out and licks her upper lip as he does it again. She whimpers and her pace picks up, leading him to rub circles around it with his thumb.

There's an audible gasp when Stiles leans up and mouths her other breast, his other hand traveling over her back. Lydia hugs him closer and her thrusts become sloppy, beautiful wreaked sounds falling from her steadily.

He starts to feel her clench around him and he thrusts up into her faster, desperate to get her off the edge she's on. "Come for me, Lydia." He whispers against her slick skin.

And with that she comes apart, her voice high and breathless, nails grasping painfully onto his shoulders. Stiles pumps into her eagerly as she whimpers his name, chasing her until he joins her in oblivion.

Everything falls away except his groans and the sound of their breathing, exploding color behind his eyelids. Everything about her consuming him, drunk on her touch and their slow movements as the high starts to fade.

Lydia tilts his jaw upward and places a lazy kiss to his lips, her fingers softly running over the edge of his face. Stiles' thoughts start to slowly come back to him, but he's filled with one overwhelming emotion.

He's in love with her.

This girl who had somehow awakened a heart that has suffered great tragedy, afraid to let anything in again. She'd brought life into a colourless world, somehow setting everything back on its axis.

Lydia's head hits the pillow with a soft thump, her features lit up with what could only be described as bliss. There's a small smile on her lips, and her eyes are trained on him.

Stiles can't contain the laugh that bubbles out of him. The endorphins of satisfaction taking their effect, making his brain fuzzy and his limbs lazy. Lydia smiles when he starts tickling her shoulder gently with his fingertips.

"So, your father's the sheriff, huh?" Lydia asks, her voice soft. There's no malice or jest in the tone, just sincere curiosity.

"Yeah. That's why he followed me. I'd have had it worse if I was picked up by another state police or Feds or something."

"How'd that work out anyway?" She prods.

Stiles blows out a sigh and props his head up with his arm. "Well, thanks to you I didn't have to serve any time, 400 hours of community service though."

"Good. You're too pretty for jail." She teases, amusement etched on her face.

Stiles laughs and twines his fingers in her hair, playing with it absentmindedly. "And your father's a senator." He says stoically.

Lydia gives a small nod and she looks at him expectantly, waiting for the reaction he'd had the first time he'd come to this conclusion.

Instead, Stiles pulls her forward and kisses her softly, trying to press his emotions into it. She sighs into him and smiles when they break apart.

"I don't care."

"But my family will give you a hard time, you're not exactly what they expect for me." Lydia protests.

Stiles kisses her again and looks her square in the eye. "I don't care about that."

"But we're from completely different worlds-"

He stops her protests once again, pressing his lips to hers. "I still don't care."

Lydia mashes her lips together, apparently weighing the thoughts in her mind. Her eyes drift downward, and he lifts her chin with his fingers to bring her back. "I'm in love with you." He whispers.

She stays silent for what seems like an eternity, quickly making him regret the words.

And then, so quietly that if he hadn't been hanging onto the silence around them he wouldn't have heard it, she whispers back "I think I love you, too."

So he kisses her with everything he can muster, because it's everything. She's everything.

\----------------------

"Is that everything?" Lydia calls from the driveway, partially obscured by the front porch door.

Stiles smiles and pokes his head out the door. "That's everything."

He makes his way down the steps, his father's heavy footsteps following close behind. Lydia shuts the top of the jeep's trunk, the inside packed full with both of their belongings.

"I still say the two of you are crazy to drive all the way to Boston. Why didn't you just fly?" The sheriff questions.

The waves of red blow into Stiles' face slightly as Lydia snakes her arm through his and around his back. Smiling, she looks up at him for a moment before turning back to his dad.

"We like the drive." She says simply.

The sheriff laughs a bit and gives her a bear hug, patting her on the back. "Take care of my boy now."

She gives him a smirk. "I'll try to keep him out of trouble."

"Good luck with that." Stiles quips, earning him a soft whack in the head from his dad as he receives his own bear hug.

"Love you, dad."

He pulls out of the hug to be met with shining hazel eyes. "I love you too, Stiles."

Stiles pats his father's shoulder and joins Lydia in the jeep. "Take a ride with me, partner?" He deadpans, waiting for the retort that's sure to come.

The redhead rolls her eyes. "You're such a dork." She teases as he turns over the engine. Her fingers immediately turn up the dial, classic rock blaring out of the crackling speakers.

Stiles laughs and pulls into the street, starting a new trip that's sure to be memorable to say the least.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [savingsciles](http://savingsciles.tumblr.com) on tumblr! 
> 
> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think!


End file.
